I heard the front door click open just after seven, the familiar sound of Harry's keys jangling against the lock. My heart did that stupid little flutter it always did when he came home, even after three years together. I was sprawled on the sofa, half-watching some mindless reality programme, when I heard his gym bag thud against the hallway floor.
"Luke, I'm home!" His voice carried that particular roughness it always had after a hard workout, slightly breathless and deeper than usual. That commanding tone that made my cock stir immediately.
I turned my head to see him appear in the doorway, and Christ, he looked absolutely magnificent. His grey vest clung to his torso, dark patches of sweat spreading across his chest and down his abs. His dark hair was matted to his forehead, and there was that post-gym flush to his cheeks that made him look both exhausted and somehow more alive, more powerful. But it was the smell that hit me first, that unmistakable musk of a man who'd just spent two hours pushing his body to its limits, and I felt my mouth water instantly.
"Rough session?" I asked, sitting up slightly, already feeling that familiar submissive energy settling over me.
"Fucking brutal," he said, running a hand through his damp hair. "Did legs and then an hour of cardio. I'm absolutely wrecked." He kicked off his trainers, those battered Nike Air Max he'd been wearing to the gym for months, and the smell that wafted across the room was immediate and overwhelming. Sweat, yes, but something else too. Something more primal and distinctly masculine. I caught the unmistakable scent of cum mixed in with the sweat, and I felt my cock go instantly hard.
Harry noticed me staring and smirked, that dominant smirk that told me he knew exactly what he was doing to me. "Yeah, had a wank in the showers. Couldn't help myself after watching this fit bloke doing squats. Shot my load all over the tiles and wiped my cock on my sock." He was always honest like that, completely shameless about his sexuality, and he loved making me squirm with the details.
He walked closer, and the smell intensified. Those trainers were absolutely reeking, the kind of smell that should have been repulsive but instead made my cock throb painfully in my jeans. I could see the dark stains on his socks, which I knew he'd been wearing for at least ten days straight. It was this thing he did sometimes, wearing the same pair for as long as possible, knowing exactly what it did to me, how it made me desperate and needy.
"You've been wearing those socks for ages," I said, my voice coming out hoarse and pathetic.
"Ten days," he confirmed, wiggling his toes inside the damp, grey fabric. "They're fucking rancid, mate. Absolutely disgusting. Thought my little sock slut might want to worship them properly tonight." That smirk again, the one that told me I was going to be on my knees soon, and we both knew I'd love every second of it.
He stood there for a moment, just looking at me with those dark, dominant eyes, and I could see the decision forming in his mind. The air between us felt charged, electric with possibility and the thick musk of his body. I was already getting hard just from the way he was looking at me, like I was his property, his toy to use however he wanted.
Then, completely out of nowhere, he started undressing and said: "Let's go fuck."
Just like that. No preamble, no seduction, just a simple command that made my cock go from hard to absolutely throbbing in seconds. This was Harry taking what he wanted, and I was going to give it to him.
He didn't wait for an answer. He grabbed the hem of his vest and pulled it over his head in one smooth motion, revealing his torso, all lean muscle and glistening with a sheen of cooling sweat. His nipples were hard, dark points against his pale skin, and I could see the trail of hair that led from his navel down into his joggers. He looked like a god, and I was about to worship at his altar.
I scrambled off the sofa, my own clothes suddenly feeling far too restrictive. Harry was already pushing his joggers down over his hips, revealing those grey socks and then his thick thighs, dusted with dark hair. He wasn't wearing pants, he never did when he went to the gym, and his cock sprang free, already half-hard and starting to leak. It was thick and beautiful, and I knew it was going to be inside me soon, using me, claiming me.
We moved towards the bedroom like we were magnetised, shedding clothes as we went. I pulled my t-shirt over my head, nearly tripping over it in my haste. My jeans came next, button fly popping open as I shoved them down my legs. Harry was ahead of me, completely naked except for those filthy socks, his arse looking absolutely perfect as he walked, firm and round, the muscles flexing with each step.
By the time we reached the bedroom, we were both completely starkers, our cocks hard and bobbing with each movement. But Harry didn't head straight for the bed. Instead, he turned back to the hallway and grabbed his trainers, both of them this time, and I felt my stomach flip with anticipation.
"No foreplay tonight," he said, his voice rough with dominance and need. "I'm going to fuck you raw, Luke. But first, you're going to show me what a good little sock whore you are."
I didn't argue. I couldn't have even if I'd wanted to. My cock was leaking already, and he hadn't even touched me yet.
"On the bed. On your back. Now," Harry commanded, and I obeyed immediately, climbing onto the bed and lying down, my cock standing straight up against my stomach, already leaking precum.
Harry climbed on after me, those trainers still clutched in his hands, and positioned himself between my legs. He grabbed my ankles roughly and lifted them, pushing my feet up and over his shoulders so that my arse was tilted up towards him. The position left me completely exposed, vulnerable, exactly how he wanted me.
"Fuck, you look so good like this," he muttered, his eyes raking over my body. "My little slut, all spread out and ready for me. But first..." He brought one of the trainers up to my face, holding it right over my nose and mouth. "Breathe it in, Luke. Breathe in how fucking rank my trainers are."
The smell hit me like a physical force, concentrated sweat and cum and pure masculine musk, so strong it made my eyes water. It was absolutely rank, the kind of smell that had been building up for months in those trainers, intensified by today's workout and his wank in the showers. I had no choice but to breathe it in with each gasping breath, and it went straight to my cock.
"That's it," Harry groaned, watching my face. "Look at you, breathing in my stink like the desperate little pervert you are. You love it, don't you? You love how disgusting my trainers smell."
"Yes," I gasped, my voice muffled by the trainer. "Fuck, yes, Harry."
"Yes, what?" he demanded, pressing the trainer harder against my face.
"Yes, Sir," I corrected myself, remembering my place. "I love how disgusting your trainers smell, Sir."
"Good boy," he praised, and I felt a rush of pleasure at his approval. "Now lick it. Lick the inside of my trainer where my foot's been sweating all day."
I extended my tongue and dragged it across the damp interior of the trainer, tasting salt and sweat and something uniquely him. The taste was indescribable, slightly bitter and completely overwhelming, and I moaned around it, my cock twitching against my stomach.
"Filthy little sock slut," Harry said, his voice thick with arousal. "Look at you, licking my trainers like they're a fucking ice lolly. You're such a dirty boy, Luke. My dirty boy."
He pulled the trainer away and replaced it with his foot, still clad in that filthy grey sock, pressing it directly against my face. The sock was even worse than the trainer, if that was possible. Ten days of wear had turned it into something truly obscene, damp with sweat and cum, stained dark grey in places, and absolutely reeking. I could feel the texture of it against my cheek, rough and slightly crusty in places where the sweat had dried and been re-dampened. The smell was concentrated, pure essence of Harry, and it made my head spin with need.
"Smell it," Harry commanded, grinding his foot against my face. "Smell my rank fucking sock. Ten days I've been wearing these, Luke. Ten days of sweat and piss and cum, all for you. Because I know what a desperate little sock whore you are."
I inhaled deeply, taking in lungfuls of that overwhelming scent, and my cock leaked steadily, precum pooling on my stomach. I was completely lost in it, in the degradation and the worship, in being used exactly how Harry wanted to use me.
"Now lick it," he ordered. "Lick my fucking sock clean, you dirty slut."
I opened my mouth and extended my tongue, dragging it across the damp, filthy fabric. The taste was even more intense than the trainer, salt and sweat and the unmistakable taste of dried cum, slightly bitter and completely overwhelming. I licked again, and again, worshipping his sock with my tongue, covering it in my saliva, making it even wetter.
"Fuck, that's so hot," Harry groaned, watching me debase myself for him. "You're such a good little sock bitch, aren't you, Luke? Licking my rank socks like they're the most delicious thing you've ever tasted."
"Yes, Sir," I mumbled around the sock, my tongue still working against the fabric. "I'm your sock bitch, Sir."
"That's right, you are," Harry said, his voice rough with dominance. "And now I'm going to fuck you while you worship my feet like the pathetic little slut you are."
He spat into his hand—we'd long since abandoned the niceties of lube for quick, rough fucks like this—and slicked up his cock with a few brutal strokes. Then he positioned himself at my entrance, the blunt head of his cock pressing against my hole, and pushed in without warning.
The stretch was intense, that perfect burn that bordered on pain, and I cried out around his sock, my body resisting for just a moment before yielding, opening up to accept him. He didn't give me time to adjust, just kept pushing deeper, deeper, until I could feel his balls pressed against my arse and his cock was buried completely inside me.
"Fuck," I gasped, my hands clutching at the sheets beneath me. "Harry, fuck, Sir..."
"Take it," Harry commanded, holding still for just a moment, buried completely inside me. "Take my cock like a good boy, Luke. This is what you're for, isn't it? To be my little fuck toy, my cum dump."
"Yes, Sir," I moaned, my cock throbbing untouched between us. "I'm your fuck toy, Sir."
Then he started to move, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in with one brutal thrust. There was nothing gentle about it, nothing tender. This was Harry using me, fucking me hard and rough, and I loved every second of it. The angle was perfect, his cock dragging against my prostate with each stroke, sending sparks of pleasure shooting up my spine.
He established a punishing rhythm quickly, deep, powerful thrusts that made the bed frame creak and had me gasping with each impact. And all the while, he kept his foot pressed against my face, that filthy sock covering my nose and mouth, forcing me to breathe in his scent with each gasping breath.
"That's it," Harry groaned, his hips never stopping their relentless rhythm. "Breathe it in. Smell how fucking rank my socks are. Lick them while I fuck your tight little arse."
I did, taking deep lungfuls of that overwhelming scent, my tongue working frantically against the damp fabric. The combination of his cock inside me, hitting that perfect spot with each thrust, and that smell filling my lungs was almost too much. I was leaking steadily now, precum pooling on my stomach with each thrust of Harry's hips, and I knew I wasn't going to last long.
But Harry wasn't done degrading me yet. He pulled his foot back and quickly peeled off the sock, revealing his bare foot, pale and slightly wrinkled from the sweat, his toes flexing. Then he shoved the sock directly into my mouth, stuffing it between my lips.
"Suck on it," he commanded, his voice rough and breathless. "Suck all the sweat and cum out of my sock, you filthy little whore."
I closed my lips around the damp fabric and sucked, tasting the concentrated essence of him, salt and sweat and cum flooding my mouth. It was absolutely disgusting and absolutely perfect, and I moaned around it, my cock twitching violently against my stomach.
"Fuck, look at you," Harry groaned, his rhythm becoming slightly erratic as his own pleasure built. "My perfect little sock slut, sucking on my rank socks while I pound your arse. You're so fucking filthy, Luke. So desperate for me. This is what you need, isn't it? To be used like the dirty little cum dump you are."
I couldn't respond with the sock in my mouth, but I didn't need to. We both knew he was right. I was completely lost in it now, in the taste and smell of him, in the feeling of his cock stretching me open, in the building pressure at the base of my spine that told me I was getting close. My own cock was rock hard, untouched but leaking steadily, and I knew I was going to cum soon whether I touched myself or not.
Harry must have sensed it too, because he started fucking me harder, faster, his hips slamming against my arse with bruising force. He grabbed his other foot and pressed it against my face alongside the sock in my mouth, forcing me to smell both his bare foot and the sock simultaneously.
"You're going to cum just from my cock and my feet, aren't you, Luke?" Harry demanded, his voice strained with his own approaching orgasm. "You're going to cum like a little bitch, untouched, just from being used by me."
I nodded frantically, unable to speak, my body trembling with the effort of holding back my orgasm. I wanted to wait for him, wanted us to cum together, but I didn't know if I could last much longer.
"I'm close," Harry gasped, his voice breaking slightly. "Fuck, I'm so close. Are you close, Luke? Are you ready to cum for me?"
I nodded again, my eyes watering from the intensity of the smell and taste and sensation. My balls were drawn up tight against my body, and my cock was twitching against my stomach, leaving trails of precum across my skin.
"Cum with me," Harry commanded, his voice rough with dominance even as his rhythm faltered. "Cum with me right fucking now, Luke. Show me what a good boy you are."
And I did. My orgasm hit me like a freight train, pleasure exploding through my body in waves so intense they were almost painful. My cock jerked and pulsed, shooting thick ropes of cum across my stomach and chest, some of it reaching as far as my neck. My arse clenched rhythmically around Harry's cock, and I heard him cry out as his own orgasm overtook him.
I felt him cum inside me, felt the hot pulse of his release filling me up, marking me as his, and it prolonged my own orgasm, making it seem to go on forever. He thrust a few more times, riding out the waves of pleasure, before finally stilling, buried deep inside me, his cock still twitching with aftershocks.
For a moment, we just stayed like that, both of us breathing hard, our bodies slick with sweat. Harry's foot was still pressed against my face, and the sock was still in my mouth, and I was still breathing in that overwhelming smell, but now it was mixed with the scent of our combined release, cum and sweat and sex.
Then Harry slowly pulled out, and I felt his cum start to leak out of me, warm and slick, marking me as used, as his. He pulled the sock from my mouth and tossed it aside, along with his other sock, before looking down at my stomach, painted with my own release.
What he did next surprised me, even after three years together. He leaned down and dragged his tongue across my stomach, licking up my cum with long, slow strokes. The sensation was incredible, his tongue was hot and wet, and the sight of him cleaning me up like this, claiming even my cum as his, was almost enough to get me hard again.
He licked up every drop, his tongue working across my abs, up to my chest, even catching the bit that had landed on my neck. When he was done, he crawled up my body and kissed me, deep and filthy, sharing the taste of my own cum with me. I could taste myself on his tongue, mixed with the lingering taste of his sock, and it was absolutely obscene and perfect.
When he finally pulled back, we were both grinning like idiots.
"Good boy, Luke," Harry said, his voice soft now, affectionate. "You took that so well. My perfect little sock slut."
"Thank you, Sir," I said, my voice hoarse from the sock and the moaning.
Harry laughed and collapsed beside me on the bed, pulling me against him. "Fuck, that was intense."
"Yeah," I agreed, settling into his embrace. "Fuck indeed."
We lay there for a while, our breathing gradually returning to normal, our bodies cooling in the evening air. I could feel Harry's cum still leaking out of me, could smell the combined scent of our bodies, sweat and cum and those rank socks still lying on the floor beside the bed.
"I should probably shower," Harry said eventually, though he made no move to get up.
"Probably," I agreed, equally unmotivated to move.
"But maybe in a bit," he added, his hand stroking lazily down my side. "I'm too fucked to move right now. And besides, I like you smelling like me."
I settled deeper into his embrace, not caring that we were both sticky and smelly and thoroughly debauched. This was us, raw and real and completely comfortable with each other's bodies and desires, no matter how unconventional they might be. Harry was my dom, my Sir, and I was his sub, his toy, and it worked perfectly.
"Same time tomorrow?" I asked, only half-joking.
Harry laughed, the sound rumbling through his chest against my back. "If I can still walk after leg day, absolutely. And Luke?"
"Yes, Sir?"
"I'm not washing these socks. You're going to worship them again tomorrow, even ranker than today."
My cock twitched at the thought, and Harry felt it, laughing again.
"That's my boy," he said, and I felt a rush of warmth and belonging.
And as I drifted off into a satisfied doze, wrapped in the smell and warmth of him, I thought that there was nowhere else I'd rather be.
